The Books of Rufus
by nanazowadi
Summary: Rufus Turner was an ex-hunter when we meet him in the TV series. Bobby Singer knows him as a knowledgeable but irascible "friend" but like all hunters he had a mystic past and magic on him that wouldn't let go. This is Rufus' story know that dead don't always mean dead.
The Book of Rufus

April 2016

 _Dedicated to the writers, actors and characters of supernatural. For a really great ride long may y'all reign._

 _Cast of Characters_

 **Abū al-Sāḥilī -** a mystic, poet and architect who built Timbuktu, a center for commerce, learning and the University of Sankore

 **Bobby Singer** \- Rufus' friend and fellow hunter. Turner met Bobby the night his wife was possessed by a demon.

 **Castiel** – a Cherubim. Cherubim are typically represented with wings, feet, and hands but are also described in different forms as having between two and four faces (Ezek. 41:18) , (Ezek. 10:21). Cherubim guard sacred things and special people. In Gen. 3:24 they guarded the tree of life (Gen. 3:24). Castiel is Dean's somewhat flawed guardian and friend.

 **Crowley** \- a demon and the current King of Hell. He was formerly the King of the Crossroads and right-hand man of the first demon Lilith and then-de facto ruler of Hell.

 **Dean Winchester** \- human and hunter as well as a member of the Men of Letters with his younger brother Sam. He and his brother Sam are members of the Winchester and Campbell families. He and Sam are also the surrogate sons of Bobby Singer. Dean is best friends with the angel Castiel and reluctant ally of Crowley

 **Desert Fathers** \- They were sacred mystics of the Songhay/ Dahomey people in the 3rd century

 **Karen** – Bobby's dead wife the love of his life

 **King of Hell** – Crowley's assumed title

 **Lilith First Demon** – Crowley's supervisor

 **Lucy Turner** \- a minor wiccan practitioner and housewife, Rufus' second wife, mother of his only child

 **Mama** – Rufus's mother

 **Mansa Mūsā,** emperor of Mali 1280 – c. 1337

 **Naomi** – Rufus's only child her name in the patois of his birth place said "none-own-me"

 **Okomfo-Anotchi** – an old diviner of the arts and expert in obeah, hoodoo medicinal plants in the swamp where Rufus' family lived.

 **Roderick McLeod** \- Crowley's name when he was human.

 **Rowena** – a witch Fergus' mother

 **Rufus Turner** \- a semi-retired hunter who helped Bobby Singer when the latter's wife was possessed by a demon. He returned to active hunting after Lilith began to break the 66 Seals. Rufus dies when Bobby, possessed by the Khan worm, stabs him. Bobby and the Winchesters bury him in a Jewish cemetery.

 **Sam Winchester** \- is a hunter as well as a Man of Letters, along with his older brother Dean. Both Sam and Dean are related to the Winchester and Campbell families - a Letters family and a Hunting family respectively. The pair also share a bloodline with Cain and Abel. Sam is also friends with angel Castiel. He is also the occasional reluctant ally of demon Crowley.

 **Voluptuous woman** – the unnamed demon who made the deal for Fergus' soul

 **Shaman** \- controls 'spirits', without becoming their instrument. Restores harmony to the community.

 **Zombie** \- is an animated corpse raised by magical means. They have no will of their own.

 _ **Assorted Gods and Goddesses**_

 **Exu** the African god of the crossroads and restoring balance

 **Father of Lights** – one of the names for the Judeo-Christian god JHVH IAM,

 **Great Mother** \- goddess worshiped under many names and attributes in every part of the world. She is the creative force in all nature, the mother of all things, responsible particularly for the renewal of life. She is described as the fertile womb, two faced life force- nurturing, compassionate, beneficent.

 **Mami Wata** (mother of the waters) -a water goddess. One of the manifestations of the great mother who rules over the seas. nurturing and fierce, beautiful, seductive, protective yet dangerous, the water goddess has many faces, Mami Wata, Mlle. D'eau, Yemanjá,

 **Mehetabel** a daughter of the Desert Fathers well versed in the arcane arts, servant of IAM.

 **Oshun** \- (also known as Ochún or Oxúm) is an orisha, a spirit that reflects one of the manifestations of God in the Yoruba religion. Okomfo's patron Goddess

 _ **Magical Words and Works**_

 **Hoodoo** \- African American Hoodoo (also known as "conjure" or "root working") is a traditional African American folk spirituality that developed from a number of West African spiritual traditions and beliefs.

 **Obeah,** sometimes spelled Obi or Obia) is a term used in the West Indies to refer to folk magic, sorcery, and religious practices. Obeah is associated with both benign and malignant magic, charms, luck, obeah men and women predict the future and manufacturing charms.

 _ **Places of note**_

 **Atchafalaya swamp** – Rufus' birthplace in Louisiana

 **Bottle Tree** _-_ shiny objects placed around the home would keep evil spirits away. So the hanging of bottles in trees [it was believed] would "trap" the evil spirits.

 **Crossroads** the meeting and parting of ways can also conjure up spirits. The shape of the crossroads can be used in protection against spirits alleged to haunt the places.

 **Cavendish, Vermont**. Rufus owns a house there

 **Elysium,** the land of the dead, the section of heaven reserved for heroes.

 **Lebanon, Kansas,** is a city in Smith County in the north central part of the state. It is the geographic center of the continental United States. Lebanon lay along a path traditionally taken by funerary parties known as the 'death roads'

 **Men of Letters' Bunker** \- The Men of Letters bunker is located in Lebanon, Kansas, the geographic center of the contiguous United States. Constructed in 1935. It was described as containing every object, scroll, and spell collected by the order for over a thousand years, as well as research and books on a variety of subjects. In 2013, it became Sam and Dean Winchester's new base of operations and de facto home base.

 **Spirit Door** -. a threshold between the worlds of the living and the dead through which a deity or a spirit could enter and exit.

 **The River Styx** In Greek mythology, Styx is a river that forms the boundary between Earth and the Underworld.

 **Underworld** – another name for Purgatory,Tartarus a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven, final place for monsters.

 _ **Minor spirits**_

 **Boo-hag** \- According to the legend, Boo Hags are similar to vampires. Unlike vampires, they gain sustenance from a person's breath, they have no skin, in order to be less conspicuous, they will steal a victim's skin and use it for as long as it holds out.

 **Chimdi** \- spirits who had died by violence and did not get the proper burial rites that were due upon their death... If they were not released, they remained on the earth to torture the living and attempt to take one with them.

 **Duppies** \- restless spirits usually a deceased family member or friends who appear to give advice or warning. Duppies can also be set on someone by obeah to fetch, terrorize or kill.

 **Ferryman** \- (Greek mythology) the ferryman who brought the souls of the dead across the river Styx to Hades.

 **Fetch** \- A fetch is a supernatural double or an apparition of a living person in Irish folklore. sightings are regarded as omens, for impending death. it can also temporarily inhabit bodies causing them to commit both psychological and physical harm to themselves and others.

 **Loa** are the spirit intermediaries between the Supreme Creator, who is distant from the world—and humanity. Unlike saints or angels, however, they are not simply prayed to, they are served. They are each distinct with their own personal, ritual symbols, and special modes of service.

 **Shaman** \- a person having access to, and influence in, the world of good and evil spirits, especially among some peoples of northern Asia and North America. Typically, such people enter a trance state during a ritual, and practice divination and healing.

Book One

 _Every Good Bye Ain't Gone_

Foreword

 _He ain't dead._

Once when Dean, Sam and Bobby were sitting around some dingy bar run by some sloppy female (not at all like Ellen). Tinny music was playing, the beer was cold, the food with generous though a little salty and she knew how to mind her own business. Bobby had the floor and talking in a soft slurred rumble. "You boys don't know nothing…don't matter what you think, you ain't seen half what Rufus knows. Old juju, some of it out of Africa. He ain't dead, not by a long shot. I seen him pull this trick before when he wanted to disappear. Wonder where he came up at this time.

 _Beginnings_

There's always been disagreement on whether or not the first magic workers were born or made. Certainly it seemed to run in certain families. A not so random caveman, protection drawn in his blood on a cave floor protecting his clan for a generation behind homemade weapons, traps and runes learned by trial and error. A gathering place known by many names, there'd always been a place to be, a cave, a room or even a roadhouse where hunters gathered to swap information, have a drink, a woman or a warm relatively safe place to rest.

In the before times when we had no last names and tribe and family were everything, the difference between the sacred and mundane wasn't as clear as some folks think they are today. Roots mixed right could cure most everything and ancestor souls stuck around to whisper warnings or wisdom to kinfolk such as had ears to here. Spirit healing is believed to have started thousands of years ago. Some could judge between spirits. But to achieve understanding and communication with spirits is a long and difficult journey beginning with a painful initiation. Some families were gifted to live half in and out of spirit to commune with gods and men. Some weren't. The ignorant made fun and seldom lived long enough to regret it.

In some cultures, when a child fell prey to a severe illness, he was considered marked by a god. sometimes he could only be healed by the help of a spirit who would come to guide him.

Rufus was such a child. He had not been brought up in the hunter life. His knowledge of magic came from another much more ancient place. He'd been marked from birth (although he did not know it), born into a family that honored tradition. When he was three he'd fallen deathly ill- the sleeping sickness. Bitten by an infected tsetse fly he suffered fever, headaches, confusion, and a sleep lasting days.

If the child does awaken, the healing spirit, as part of their price, takes possession of the child, he appears to have gone mad. When Rufus finally awoke three days later, a cranky irritability selfish child, more interested in fighting than learning who he was. His mother indulged his temper knowing he was already marked, more than 80% of these children never wake up.

She went to her priest. Okomfo, who was to be consulted to discover, which spirit or god has claimed the child. She prepared water, leaves, and herbs in an earthen pot for Rufus to drink. He danced, stumbling around murmuring for days, accompanied by drums and singing. He stumbled into the river and emerge holding something hidden in his small hands. His mother stuffed into the pot. Okomfo could identify the spirit.

Rufus was an irritable child with a nearly psychotic temper (like the goddess who claimed him), one that was to serve him well later in life. His worried mother did not complete the ritual not wishing to tax he "baby" and he remained spoiled, uneducated son of the goddess Mami Wata (also called Yemanjá mother of the waters) undedicated/ uncovered and wild as day old sin.

 _Back in the day…._

Back in the old places in the olden times power was measured in terms of benefit and whatever God answered when you called. If you could read the oldest cuneiform in the oldest tombs in the Lower Kingdoms, in the caves, you would see power filled runes carved into the vents and doorways, age old symbols eerily familiar to any hunter. Magic workers learned information passed from mouth to mouth, mask to mask, information passed written in tar blackened blood on walls, on scrolls made of human skin of long-dead shaman carried east to the west in the diseased gut of dying slaves through in the middle passage to the west. The traditions and obeisance were kept.

Note -The human body was never designed to hold magic for long. Shaman never died natural Shaman ridden by their loa/spirit grew to take possess the supplicant this was how they had first become priests. They had been seized with a spirit and had either lost all consciousness or seemingly had become mad. sometimes for a year sometimes longer. Spirits took many forms, governing the lives of their Earthly kin; illness and healing spiritual trouble or dissatisfaction of the ancestors with the ways of the living.

The shaman must learn to control 'spirits', without becoming their instrument. Without control a spirit could burn a root worker from the inside out. A good obayai however, could bargain with spirits to reverse afflictions, use their powers to invoke malevolent spirits or merely put a curse on the object of that one's anger. The shaman can use his skills to restore harmony to the community. This was the path that had been laid out before Rufus. He was descended from a long line of shaman through both his father and his mother's people. This was the path Rufus ignored or rejected. An initiation that he scrupulously avoided.

Shamans keep a chest where they kept divine articles, medicines, and objects of power used in healing practices belonging to them. These objects were intended to divine the nature of the trouble and to discern what steps or rituals were required to appease the ancestor, the spirits or the goddess herself. Rufus spirit box was sealed shut and guarded as long as Mama was alive. She sure spoiled that boy rotten, no good can come of ignorance.

 _The Goddess_

Rufus mother's line was wholly beholden by the Great Mother. She was worshiped under many names and attributes in every part of the world. She is the creative force in all nature, the mother of all things, responsible for the renewal of life. The First Peoples knew her as the earth, connected through her to nature as to a great web of life. From the beginning she was the fertile womb symbolized by earth and sea which gave birth to everything. She is the two faced life force - nurturing, compassionate, beneficent and terrifying and implacable; a force which can regenerate as well as destroy. Rufus had been claimed by her so many years ago and had not paid obeisance once. Spoiled Mama's boy, no good can come of rude ignorance.

The goddess was also called the "Mother of the Water" punisher of mean-spirited men who commit crimes against nature. She would take such a man for her husband for two lifetimes to teach him not turn his back upon her. Mami Wata's children must do what she wants. If they are obedient they would gain her favor if they refuse, they will become ill. She is two faced filled with death, destruction and power, beauty, creation and wealth. Mami wata loved offerings of food and drink, alcohol, fragrant objects, and jewelry.

Beautiful and seductive, protective yet dangerous, Mami wata (mother water) has many faces, she inflicted madness, infertility, and sickness she wrought havoc in markets. She could seduce you against your will. She is known by many names Mami Wata among the descendants of slaves as Yemanjá among the voudoun – the mother who rules over the seas, no one can defeat her. Rufus was a true child of Yemaya strong willed and independent. A terrible temper when it erupted. More than a little arrogant, he was easily offended and never forgot a slight.

 _Nosey child_

Rufus was not the brightest child; Mama knew it. He grew into a long lean drink of water with a brilliant smile and an easy tone that made the young girls smile. He knew spell work but he was not that cunning much preferring to pursue a good time. He thought he was cleverer than grown folks and could outwit many because he was one of Mami Wata's favorites, but never Mama. This bothered him a lot. He figured that going somewhere where they didn't know the old ways would make him rich (he was a child of Yemanjá after all though he didn't know it). If he could figure out a way to capture all of his mother's wisdom, maybe write it down he could find a way to make enough money to be his own man somewhere else.

So he set out to find a way to collect wisdom on the sly. He went from door to door, asking everyone but everybody knew that he was marked by the goddess and no good would come of this, it was he needed wisdom the most. Soon he filled a leather bound notebook with wisdom that he thought he knew. He was a sneaky child. He listened at doorways and behind houses collecting what he could. Being an initiate of Yemanjá – she would have given him, but worse yet he hadn't asked.

You know how they say some folks born lucky? Well, Rufus - everything he turned his hand to turned to money, but somehow he couldn't (some say wouldn't) hold on to it and settle down. Oh, plenty girls tried, but he always slipped away.

One day a dark-eyed, red-lipped beauty seemed to appear emerging from the swamp. Her eyes sparkled like opals, her skin was as smooth as night and her voice was low and sweet he fell head over heels hard. Fast as they could jump a broom they were wed In bed on their wedding night her eyes blazed red in the dark and he grew frightened and realized something was very very wrong. Rufus was not near as bright as he thought. He had married a boo-hag sent by Mami Wata to calm him down.

He broke down and humbled went to ask Mama for her advice. Too little, too late. Only all he found was her lifeless body clutching his' spirit box. She was his defender against the goddess and she had finally died leaving him defenseless against the goddess.

He had no choice but to go back to Okomfo-Anotchi the old man and tell him everything. Okomfo-Anotchi was one of the oldest and craftiest diviners of obeah and hoodoo in the swamp where Rufus' family lived. His skill in plants medicinal and poisonous caused respect. His skill was, discovery and punishment and the predicting of future events. He could quit his body and travel 'smelling out' of witches. Cause witches are very common and a man never knows but that his friend or even his wife may be one. He was one of the most well-known root working, Hoodoo big bad obeah man in the South. He dreaded his response. Okomfo-Anotchi cast bones onto a mat told him. "She a boo-hag boy, a witch and a shape-shifter. She lures boys like you into her trap and kills them if they don't get rid of her first. Who'd you piss off so, who sent a boo hag looking for you?"

Rufus racked his brain – could have been any of a dozen local women he's tricked out of sex or money being slick. He realized belatedly how his mother's magic had protected him from the worst consequences of his actions…and he had taken his "luck" for granted. Now with her gone he was going to have learn to protect himself. and now on top of it all, he had a boo hag in his bed with no clue what to do about it. And here was his worst nightmare asking for help from Okomfo was an old and most crafty conjurer in the south. This would not end well. "Please help me" Rufus said softly "I got troubles man". Okomfo said the words Rufus had dreaded "are you ready to stop running from the goddess? She been mighty patient with you ". "Yes" said Rufus at least smart enough to know when he was at a corner. The old diviner told Rufus to get himself some blue paint, spread it on every portal window and door. If she didn't get out before dawn, she would be trapped and revealed for the monster she was. So said so done. Her screeching could be heard for miles.

But the beauty he'd married, that turned out to be a boo hag had been sent by Mami Wata to possess with sex what he wouldn't give freely – his will. Rufus had been careless commit mean spirited crimes against home folks stealing unearned wisdom not his to have, treating female like dollies to be toyed with and tossed away, ignoring the goddess to whom he was due, just being a willy-nilly no-account till he was almost grown. Unbeknownst to him Mama Wata had already passed her judgment and claimed him as one of her husbands for two of his lifetimes bidding him to take no other. He would live much longer than most, long enough to pay the price of his neglect.

 _Some truths have sharp edges_

Some truths have sharp edges, can't be left around for fools to play with. Gather enough, folks notice, gather more so do spirits, put too much in one place the old gods gather to reward or punish you. Families known as keepers of truth and wisdom do not renege on promises and Rufus had been allowed to get away with his for too long. Unnamed by the wise, easily found truth is never free and deliverance is worth more than he had to pay.

The time had finally come to fess up to his place. The only way for him to escape the fate left for the unfaithful was to accept his place as the apprentice of Okomfo. With his own mother dead and his protection gone he became a devotee of Yemanjá or in you prefer Mama Wata. The goddess of the waters took his for his true mother. He began the rites and learning of a orisha priest by day as the goddess rode him by night. All in all, not that bad a bargain as such things go.

Rufus Turner wasn't born in South Dakota it was just as far away as he could get from that swamp in Louisiana he called home. When he'd been drinking, he told tall tales claiming his mother sometimes was a thrice bound hoodoo priestess fully initiated in the rituals of the deities as was her father before her, sometimes Yemanjá goddess of the waters with Rufus promised to her by his natural mother upon her death. He was to be heir to all her contracts with the lower powers, and rituals best only whispered in dark places. He trained and he was good, really good.

He had seen Mama send jumbees after families and demand tribute to Exu, the God of the Crossroads in pig's blood and rum. It was fun to spy on her, to have hidden knowledge, to work secret magics on old ladies and rob them blind to remove it. It was fun until Mama cut off his left pinky toe to seal his service to Yemanjá and her lover the goddess Oshun. "Now you are hers…no door is closed for you, no secret, and no tale hidden. When Mama died and the boo-hag seduced him, he was enchanted for a time till that old hoodoo doctor had helped him free himself.

Now. Rufus wanted nothing to do with magic. He waited and learned and as soon as he could walk he sneaked away at night; never to return, leaving no forwarding address, scared really scared. Rufus hoped "She" would just choose another to initiate. But that is not the way of such things.

 _The Outside World_

Rufus was by nature a wanderer, an intellectual sponge who was able to bullshit his way into any library or classroom. He developed a love of Johnny Walker Blue Label, audited Brooklyn College's course on Kabbalah phenomena, and taught an obscure class on the place of 'myth', 'ritual' and mystical technique. In his time there Rufus converted to Judaism in hopes of learning deeper mysteries of kabbalah (and to ensure if he was put in the ground he would not be embalmed). He spent one Samhain with wiccans learned lore on the magical intervals of time when the veil between the worlds is lifted. He even attended Holy Ghost tent meetings in hopes of hearing answers to his fears in unknown tongues, to see if their God could truly make the dead walk like Mama, finally hiding with Hindu yogi for a time to practice the rituals and techniques of tantric yoga (much to the delight of his fellow devotees).

After a time, he found himself settled in a small college town in Dakota teaching occult mystical practices in modern day America. Dr. Thomas (as he was known there) married a former student Lucy, a minor wiccan practitioner and housewife, her knowledge gleaned mostly from the internet with little or no knowledge of the true arts. They had one daughter Naomi her name in the patois of his birth place said "none-own-me" according to an old ex-slave tradition for naming your child for your dreams. She at least would be free of the old traditions, free to live her own life. She was the light of her father's eye, her mother's delight. It was a quiet life. Most days were fairly tranquil, and the students were harmless trying for an easy "A" asking questions that sounded more like something gleaned from Harry Potter than any serious magical inquiries.

 _Nothing lasts forever_

One ill-fated day, the local Biggerson's restaurant decided to host a Halloween party for local elementary school students. All you can eat for children wearing costumes. Rufus was invited to be interviewed for a kids' program on Halloween. Tell a few scary stories. Harmless right? Except the local news thought it was such a sweet little human interest story and broadcast it, the national news picked it up and one night the loa reported on what was broadcast though the air on eyewitness news. There on Okomfo's tiny ancient television she looked into the face of her long lost son.

 _Goddess Memory Long Angry Longer_

A zombie is an animated corpse raised by magical means. The man or woman is fed special powders from the pufferfish and 'jimson weed" in their food to induce a deathlike state. The "corpse" is buried in a deathlike suspended animation, they were re-awakened, by the priest or priestess as her slave, they had no will of their own. They become her fetch, sent to do just that. Especially when the priest was in possession of a withered stump of an old severed toe.

Rufus wasn't home the night his wife died. He was always home by dinner but that night he stayed late in his tiny office at the school grading papers so he wasn't there to fight when the zombie came to fetch him and force him to go home. His wife died for information she didn't have, about a subject she knew nothing about, slowly strangled among her now useless crystals, runes and weeds.

To get rid of a zombie, nail a horseshoe to the house. Burn rosemary and scatter rice all around the house and put salt in a mouth sewn shut. The zombie was inert when he got home. He knew what to do. Rufus buried his wife in the old ways - buttons removed from her shroud all her pockets sewn shut and filled it with stone, mouth filled with salt and sewn shut. rosemary and rice scattered around her grave in consecrated ground.

Thank God his daughter had been sleeping at a friend's house and missed it all. As soon as his wife was buried he put his daughter in a private boarding school in Omaha and packed up his things left his teaching job behind all behind.

 _Two Souls_

In Obeah, a person is believed to possess two souls a good soul and an earthly soul. In death, the good soul goes to heaven to be judged by God, while the earthly spirit remains with the body, where it may escape the grave if proper precautions are not taken. The good in Rufus was buried in with his wife her mouth sewn shut in consecrated ground in an unmarked grave in Dakota. His heart was hidden in a girl's school in the low hills of Omaha. He fought those who practiced evil to fight the guilt in his soul that he had never prepared his wife or shared the knowledge he'd had. He was never able to shake the feeling that if he had been home that night…or if he'd never left home she might have survived. He feared the pull from the part of him buried in a spirit box that linked him forever to his past.

 _No Direction Home_

Rufus began using his arcane knowledge to do good where he could. Some time passed and a lot of skill building later, Rufus Turner met Bobby Singer the night his wife was possessed by a demon. Bobby was an old junk yard dealer good with a car and making his own rotgut to pass out drunk every night. His wife was the only light in his life. She had the misfortune to answer the door the night demons were looking for a candidate to mother Lucifer's next meat suit. Rufus followed demon signs right to Bobby's door. He exorcised the demon and helped a drunken sobbing Bobby cover up Karen's shredded body.

Rufus helped Bobby pull it together and introduced him to what was really out there. Bobby got good at ganking demons, even saved Rufus once in a church when they were trying to stop the ghost of a jilted woman who killed heartbreaking men. Rufus brought Bobby his first bottle of decent scotch and they got in the habit of getting drunk, traded stories after a successful hunt.

… _traps within traps_

Rufus didn't realize the patience of a goddess scorned. Bokor think in decades, in centuries instead of months. Unbeknownst to Rufus and Bobby a trap was laid outside of a small town near Omaha called McCool Junction barely 200 souls strong. The perfect spot for hoodoo secluded with a cross road right outside of town. The voice on the police scanner reported two bodies drained of blood. It was trouble from the start. Something didn't feel right. Bobby and Rufus argued all the way there from their last job. Bobby was all for the quick hit and run. Lay a trap for the vampire hunting in the area, question it hard, burn down nest if there was one and get out of town fast. His plan needed a third person, a getaway driver.

Rufus was more inclined to lay a charm on the vampire and follow it back to its nest and pick them off one by one. Bobby was young and feeling his oats, Rufus the more experienced had more than one reason to want to keep a low profile around the spirit world. Bobby knew Rufus had a daughter in school nearby (never get drunk with a hunter) and started questioning Rufus asking if his daughter could handle a fast junker.

 _Fetch_

Rufus vehemently barred Bobby from doing contacting his daughter (who still thought he was teaching). He threatened and promised vicious retribution if he was crossed. What he did not know was that Bobby had already made secret contact with Naomi and she (poor ignorant child) was only too glad to do something for her father. Teenagers are like that – always up for an adventure. Not a brain cell working. The trap was set. Bobby and Rufus lay in the tall grass waiting near the concealed devil's trap drawn at the cross roads. Something shuffled up to the devil's trap and looked directly at Rufus with eyes like small fires. Rufus had a bad feeling that this was about to go sideways. He pushed Bobby toward their truck as dust rose around them in a whirlwind blocking their view. Rufus caught a glimpse of his daughter when she was pulled screaming from the truck by a fire eyed jumbee like the ones from home. He never saw his daughter alive again.

Mami Wata had never given up. She hoped to catch Rufus but was satisfied to snatch the daughter. A life for a life. One for one. Rufus never knew what became of his daughter. No spell, no root could make the loa spill their secrets to an unfaithful initiate. They no longer believed his promises of gifts and tribute and would no longer come at his call and Rufus tried them all. But he had ignored them all those years ago and the loa never forget a slight. He never saw his daughter again. Bobby had effectively got her killed and Rufus never forgave him for what happened in Omaha. They went their separate ways.

It was fifteen years later that Bobby sent Dean to Rufus' doorstep and it took Lucifer rising and the Apocalypse for him to return to hunting and to Bobby's side.

 _Reprise – some time later_

He ain't dead.

Dean, Sam and Bobby where sitting around some a dingy bar run by some slattern. There was music, beer and food and folks there knew how to mind their own business. Bobby had the floor "you boys don't know nothing…don't matter what you think, you ain't seen half what he knows. Old juju. He's was an initiate of some bitch goddess, ran out on her. Now she that won't let him die until he repays her. Took his only daughter. He ain't dead by a long shot. Bobby said in his best, talking to a lunatic child voice. "I've seen him, stabbed, shot, we buried his body. Don't matter. Her mojo keeps bringing him her ancient power won't let him stay dead. Been running for years. "Well that would have been a handy spell" Sam said exasperated "what did it look like more importantly where can we get one". "Never would teach it to me" said Bobby "he said I couldn't afford it. I wonder where he came up at this time".

 _Fetch again_

Ok, the goddess found him in a bodega basement in Brooklyn. Sent his dead daughter zombied after him so he wouldn't resist her dead eyes looking so much like her mother. Always said death was the only way to make sure they stop looking for you. He tried wandering hiding deep in the Congo, castles in Ireland even spent time with aboriginal tribesmen on the Great Barrier Reef. Somehow the goddess or her minions found him every time. When he passed over water, the goddess who went by many names knew exactly where her errant child was. She was centuries patient.

Hunters are only as good as their information. Each of them kept meticulous notes on every encounter every demon undead creature, zombies and wendigo. What they look like where they hunted and most of all how they hunted and what if it didn't save your ass it might save someone else's. The hunter's life suited Rufus. No attachments, bottle of Jack Daniels Blue his only friend. Keep his notes that contained the wisdom of centuries and predated the hunter tradition back to when God and death had made that bet all those eons ago when together they pushed back the dark.

 _Blood Work_

Something was bleeding…somewhere close; the rich thick odor of human blood with that static shock in it that said "demon" in here to Sam's nose. He broke out in a gentle sweat his hands quivering slightly mouth filling with saliva in anticipation of that first taste.

No

It had been years since Ruby…since that erotic blood soaked adventure that ended in the rising of Lucifer from the cage and the death of so many. Since he and Dean were miraculously transported to a plane above Detroit, Sam had been free of the pull of his addiction.

Or so he thought. But since Dean had come back from his time as a demon, it seems like the scent of blood lingered around him like incense. And Sam's own hunger was awakening.

Soon Sam and Dean fell back into the easy rhythm of the hunt. It was always their way of hiding emotions in the easy rhythm of working together. Sam considered talking to Dean, but the echoes of old accusations and taunts rang in his head. Ruby still whispered in his dreams "don't you want it Sammy? Don't you want it?" he'd wake up stifling a scream…sprint to the shower trying to wash away his shame and guilt. He'd whisper Dean's hurtful words "you're not even human Sammy" to his reflection in the steamy bathroom mirror.

Dean was too busy with his own troubles to notice Sam's distress. Unlike demon possession Dean clearly remembered his time as a demon. Drunk on power, rage and lust he had whored and fought his way through every drunken dive he stumbled into, following Crowley leaving a trail of broken bodies behind him. And he missed it…that total abandonment of will to pleasure whether it was beating a man to death, hot steamy sex or drinking everybody in sight under the table or even baiting Crowley. Every instinct and sensation on overdrive month after month until Sam took it all away and brought him back. He pined for it in the secret parts of his soul.

He tried to do things differently, to talk more, to relax but he could barely sleep his dreams filled with an insatiable hunger for pain, for blood, for violence. Even on a hunt, even with the "righteous" kills it was like he couldn't stop, couldn't get enough. Dean was terrifying. His model good looks were tainted by the violence just behind his eyes. It kept women away and he was reduced to paying for sex from skanks he wouldn't have glanced at in better days.

Both damaged, him and Sam still attempted to work. Hunting is by nature solitary, the trusting hunter didn't survive very long. Sam and Dean were rare having been brought into the game by their father. They were not typical. But time to time hunters talked. The word was they'd changed no longer leaving a trail of bodies behind them. No longer so quick with a knife.

But some told a different story. That when you watched them take out a nest of vamps was a bloodbath like watching two different kinds of junkies. One needed the violence; the other needed the sight and smell of blood. Hunters saw lots of weird shit but the jury was out on whether the Winchesters has irrevocably crossed the line and would have to be put down. They had more than a nodding acquaintance with the king of hell, and counted several angels and werewolves among their friends. But they no longer had angelic protection and everyone who befriended or sexed one of them died bloody. Even with their boyish angelic faces they were bad news. Yet they hunted, it was all they knew. And they were still the best.

Crowley the third leg of the triad however was bored. After kicking his own human blood habit and with Dean dispatching Abaddon, he was seated comfortably back on his throne and Hell had become an office job, a really boring office job each day exactly like the last. Departments to restructure, rebels to root out, order to be restored, Abaddon had been a knight of hell, a demon of chaos, a fury, a force of nature. Her leadership style rivalled Genghis Khan, search, kill, destroy, and repeat again tomorrow.

Discipline had all but eroded completely, during his absence. Demons were slaughtering willy-nilly and the body count was piling up as well as souls wailing at the gates of hell with no idea of how they'd got there. What respect he had evaporated as word in Hell spread of his practically yearlong [unsuccessful] courtship of demon Dean Winchester. In fact, hell's residents were outright rude, he'd had to put down quite a few, the rest of them were passive cows furtively watching him from dark corners.

So bored, Crowley had even been idly entertaining the thought of breaking Lucifer out of the cage had he had been not sure that he was first on Luci's hit list right after the Winchesters. Castiel was MIA and Metatron was on lockdown in Heaven. Still bored maybe he ought to send a few spies to see what the Winchesters were up. No that was just sad like a spurned schoolgirl peeking at a wannabe beau.

Dean had never told Sam the whole story of how deeply the Mark of Cain owned him. Sam only knew the mark touched something in Dean's core. Something angry and wild that had been unleased when he received the mark. Dean always claimed the mark was poisoning him but Sam wasn't so sure that the roots of the poison hadn't been there all along fed by the blood and violence that was a part of their everyday life as hunters.

At any rate they world deal with it as they always had - together.

Sam had his own problems. His growing blood lust brought him shame. Like any addict, his efforts to ignore his need were increasingly useless. There was no rehabilitation or twelve step program to help him stay away from demon blood altogether. It was impossible while hunting with Dean's increasing need to hack every demon in sight to bits. Dean roaring unconsciously didn't help his own aching need for demon blood. After every kill Sam got dead drunk on whatever was available so Dean had to drag his gangling unresponsive frame back to their hotel room sometimes leaving him on the floor and before plopping into bed.

Sam woke up bleary eyed and cranky but it brought him a few hours of relative peace. Except when Dean leaned over his prone body and asked him? "We gonna talk about this Sammy?" to which Sam always said "you first Dean". Then silence and the end of another day.

 _Blood Simple_

It looked like a simple job, the bad ones always did. They got a call on a Sunday something about vamps attacking a toddlers Sunday school class. They rushed off to the little Baptist church in Clarkesville near the Tennessee-Kentucky border. Expecting a nest of vampires, they burst in the side doors only to see toddlers clustered around a female vamp. As they try to coax the children away they noticed to their horror that the little ones had been turned. At the female vamp's command, the little vampires attacked and Sam and Dean had nothing but their knives to hack and stab till they had beheaded every one of eighteen children. The oldest couldn't have been four. Dean was trembling and grimacing spasmodically and Sam was sick in a corner of the room.

They might have gone on spiraling downward in madness, if only Crowley hadn't been bored. After they returned to their motel room stripping off their blood soaked clothes, Crowley popped in on them late one drunk night after Dean asked his nightly question? "We gonna talk about this Sammy?" to which Sam always said "you first Dean".

"Hello boys" Crowley purred in his raspy whiskey soaked voice that promised decadence and scotch. "What's going on here? Fun and games? And I wasn't invited? I'm crushed". "But never mind I bought party favors…a knife for you Dean and a bottle of specially flavored scotch for you guaranteed demon blood, harvested it myself. What do you say let's all be friends again"? So how have you boys been do tell…

Sam and Dean were startled at his appearance, even more so at his "gifts". They looked at each other, each of them trembling. On the end table Crowley carefully placed the First Blade. Eons old it was made from the jawbone of an ass. The teeth still in the jaw had been honed to razor sharpness – to shred the flesh and well as pierce deeply. The hilt was wrapped in strips made (Crowley suspected) from the skin of demons braided and bound together and cured. It seemed to Dean to shimmer and he could feel his heart quickening in response. His desire to kill suddenly had the potency of lust. His hunger, his blood singing so loud he could not hear or see anything but the siren blade calling him.

On the floor Sam had his own problems. Crowley leaned forward with a glass suddenly full of blood red tinged scotch. Sam needed no introduction, no enticement, like the smell of a long lost love, he immediately sensed the demon blood in the glass. He reached wordlessly for the glass with both hands. They began moving slowly apart reaching toward death. Crowley smiled perhaps his day was looking up.

 _Sidebar_

It had been some time since he'd seen Bobby (probably dead by now) but he had left a small juju on them to keep an eye on the boys. They were too young too headstrong lacking in common sense. In a way they reminded him of himself at that age. Headstrong – thinking you knew everything with no idea of how big the dark the world was or who was out there waiting to clean their teeth with your bones. But they were too good at what they did to be tossed aside. So if their god didn't protect them he would at least try to watch their backs.

 _Grief and dust_

Castiel mused at his resting place chained to a rock part of an archipelago in the Caribbean. Castiel was a Cherubim. Cherubim have wings, feet, and hands and have four faces. The Cherubim are guards of sacred things and special people. One of their number guarded the tree of life, Castiel was Dean's somewhat flawed guardian and friend to both the boys. In his self-imposed exile, unwelcome in heaven, longing for the company of his friends but unable to stand the stench of blood, death and violence around them, his musings had the cadence of a dirge. "I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longing strewn over many days…Awake a thousand… thousand years away from home. Living drenched in collected breath of beautiful apes. Stirring a bitter longing I have no name for …so many hopes, so many dreams died aborning".

"I nurtured them I watched them all die…denied the quiet forgetfulness of sleep, I've lost count long ago my heart in agony". He was too weary to weep and too much angel to die.

Suddenly he heard the sound of a motor boat. He stopped in mid thought to see Rufus in a small dingy pulling up next to (what he regarded as) his rock. "If you're finished with your sad little sing song…feeling sorry for yourself" Rufus said with heavy sarcasm "you can get in the boat. Do your damn job. Your friends need you".

 _As Above So Below_

Lebanon is a city in Smith County, Kansas, in the north central part of the state. It is the geographic center of the continental United States. Lebanon was originally founded in 1876 according to the Census Bureau. A village of 200 souls. Lebanon has a total area of 0.32 square miles and lay along a path traditionally taken by funeral parties, known as the 'death roads'

Certain spirit workers knew the crossroads as one of the paths across the land and sky marking the route for spirit-beings' during moonless nights. A knowledgeable person could use the crossroad to navigate between worlds. A fool came there to make deals with beings he could barely comprehend. Understanding is crucial and [in some forgotten beliefs] the songs must be continually sung to keep the cross road spirits sated.

Crossroads, the meeting and parting of ways can also conjure up spirits. Attempts to homestead near the crossroads usually wind up with houses inexplicably destroyed or cursed. The shape of the crossroads can be used in protection against spirits alleged to haunt such places. The land surrounding can serve as an impromptu altar where offerings are placed and rituals are performed.

 _Crossroad Demon king_

At the crossroads, seekers had different names for the spirit who opens the way. Death rituals performed there were not necessarily guarded as the old ways fall forgotten. Under the exact center of the crossroads [once upon a time] sat one Crowley bound to being a crossroad demon awaiting the end of his first thousand years in Hell, bound by anger and greed and an extra three inches below the belt.

Crowley didn't start out as Crowley, in Kansas nor indeed in America or even this century. He began life Fergus Roderick McLeod in Forfarshire in 17th century Scotland. Fergus' mother Rowena was invited as a young teen lured with promises of representing the Goddess all flamed haired and lush to fertilize the earth, bringing back light and warmth to the world. Instead she ran out of the meeting house concealed in an old robe screwed, rejected and thrown out into the street like trash.

People were less precise about calendars in those days as few people could read, they were more concerned about planting seasons, and still clung to the pagan ways they anticipated the festivals and the feastings and the orgies. In her early days before the grand coven Rowena became known as a natural witch. Her magic grew and was as untamable as her temper was extreme; her spells turned a festival of renewal and light into a bloodbath scourging the town through vitriol and fire till none remained but her and her unborn bastard son. Her rages across the countryside and her casual discarding of novices once she'd used them up had attracted the notice of witch hater King James the First.

Rowena was banned from performing magic. The would be head of the Grand Coven ran for years dragging her misbegotten get which she had named Fergus [meaning noble, virile], behind her. Rowena was a true vagabond working small magicks from village to village as long as her promiscuity and unpredictable wild temper could be tolerated. She left Fergus with anyone who would feed him sometimes not returning for days, finally not at all.

Fergus slept with the dogs behind a farmer shed. He grew into another plain teen who appeared somewhat dim witted. Many a young lady (and not a few seasoned housewives) counted days till solstice when they could bed him boldly in his sixteenth year in the name of the Goddess.

The night arrived, wine and food and music passed among the villagers. Fergus was finally sought out by one of those housewives and his manhood was uncovered. Peals of laughter rang out. The noise attracted other females who joined in mocking his small stature – so to speak. What little he had shrunk under the ridicule, he was only able to perform once before running away in embarrassment. Fergus knew where the farmer kept his coins and took all leaving the village never to return, little realizing he left a girl behind pregnant with his son. But that's a story for another time. He made his way to the docks and stowed away on a ship to the Americas.

You never knew who you'll run into on a ship or who was serving Hell on the down low. Or where you'd meet them or rather where they'd meet you Fergus' comeuppance came on the deck of the ship Saint Marie bound for North America. He was a short man with nothing to live on and nothing to trade. One of many hoping their fortunes would be better there. He went out on deck, he met a voluptuous woman who seen his sadness said to him, "What ails ye?" she said, "I am hungry, but have no money" he answered. "If you will hire yourself to me, and be my servant for ten years, you shall whatever your heart desires. Serve me and after that you'll be free" she smiled. He thought immediately and thought of the extra few inches he lacked below the waist. She leaned close and whispered "whatever you heart desires-even that". No sooner than he agreed she turned to him and stabbed him through the heart and off he went straightway down into hell. She said ten years she didn't say where. The devil is in the details.

Sometime after going to Hell and he became a crossroads demon, rising in the hierarchy of hell he became the right-hand man of the First demon Lilith for a time. With Lucifer imprisoned in his cage, and Lilith's demise. He slid into leadership in Hell. Crowley transformed it into a bureaucrat's nightmare- torture by waiting in an endless line. Crowley rarely responded to crossroads summoning after that. His substantially power increased after assuming control. He became Crowley the King of Hell. And tormenting the Winchesters was his favorite hobby.

Rufus took Castiel to one of his many hidey holes, this time in a small village called Cavendish in Vermont. Rufus liked small towns. People tended to mind their own business and not ask or answer the questions of strangers. It was a small bungalow, distinguished only by the presence of a bottle tree in the backyard an anomaly in the Northern town.

 _Bottle Tree_

The origin of the bottle tree can be traced back to Africa. shiny objects placed around the home would keep evil spirits away. so the hanging of bottles in trees [it was believed] would "trap" the evil spirits. They are effective for repelling the evil spirit of someone improperly buried. The spirits come out at dusk and are attracted to the sparkling blue bottles. Once inside, the spirits are trapped. Some say you can hear them moaning when the wind blows through the tree branches. Rufus had filled the glass in the tree and planted several gris gris bags around its roots to protect the house against any and all comers. Castiel could not pass until Rufus allowed. He brought the angel in to discuss the boys' troubles.

Castiel tracked Crowley to an old Georgian mansion set back from the streets covered with Enochian sigils. Rufus confirmed Sam and Dean were there by casting small bird bones over a tattered piece of cloth from Dean's shirt and a bit of Sam's hair. With this charm he could track them to the doors of Hell itself. Fortunately, that wasn't necessary. Crowley hated hell almost as much as Castiel did and spent as much time as he could up on the earth acquiring riches and souls at will and indulging his love for Craig scotch.

Rufus took time to circle the house replacing the Enochian symbols with runes much more ancient.

Despite Crowley's charm Sam and Dean could not be had for love or money. They always managed to avoid committing to him or Hell. Almost as though they had more protection than poor Castiel had been able to provide. They could not be had for love or money, despite the times he had "helped" them. They did not trust him and only called on him when they had no other choice.

But addiction's a bitch and this time he had the upper hand. What to do with it bemused him as he watched them struggle to clear their heads. Sam had access to real demonic power his doses had to be controlled lest he become too powerful – his one weakness (besides his ever increasing appetite for blood) was his brother Dean. He would not leave Dean to Crowley's care.

Dean's need for violence had grown and Crowley had taken to keeping him manacled when he wasn't out hunting. Little by little the goodness was draining out of his eyes to be replaced by a dull brutish dead gaze. Crowley had caught him staring malevolently when he though Crowley wasn't looking. Sam's gaze was more measuring as though he was deciding just how much demon blood might be contained in his short pudgy frame. Crowley wondered if he had bit off more than he could chew with drawing the Winchesters in this close. This was definitely not as interesting as he thought it would be.

As Rufus circled the house, he saw that there were spirits circling also. spirits of someone who was not buried properly or whose grave has been desecrated doomed to walk the earth, unable to rest. Careless. A spirit whose rest was disturbed would stay earth-bound. Cemeteries were located in remote areas far away from homes for a reason.

Crowley had fed the boys souls and blood with no thought of consequences. Crowley though knowledgeable about Hell did not understand higher things like the universe's balance and the role of these boys' descendants of Cain and Abel in the scheme of things. And that was the key to his defeat.

Crowley's part in their torment and the presence of evil without Castiel or another good spirit to balance him disrupted celestial balance cause unrest for the spirits... Who in turn, cause unrest for the living. The balance must be maintained. Without negative... There could be no positive. They were equal in the creation of the universe. Rufus invoked Exu god of balance and the crossroads to restore balance by bringing Castiel to the boys to spirit them away from this place, to detox and restore themselves.

Crowley was caught by surprise as the boys suddenly vanished. Swinging between relief and panic it looked like a good time to make a discreet exit. But for some reason he could not move. Then he saw Rufus who had pulled up a stool. When Crowley looked he did not see an aging hunter, he saw a hoodoo priest weary with the weight of his profession clearly linked to some unfamiliar goddess. Power curled around Rufus like thick incense.

Rufus leaned in close to Crowley. "You may know Hell, but you know nothing of the maat, the balance you have upset or the chaos that is coming because of your clumsy fetish of the Winchester boys. As long as the good balances the bad we all stay safe and all we have to deal with are the usual craziness vampires and such. When you just start screwing with heroes you can stir all kinds of stuff up.

 _Bargain?_

It was so long that anyone had spoken to Crowley that way he puffed up in his chair prepared to roar at Rufus. Rufus leaned in close "before you start you little badass act, understand that disturbing the order might give your boss a little leeway from his boss to come out of his cage and set things right at home. You know how his Father can get about disrespect". Crowley said "why do you think He cares about my minor indiscretion?" Rufus looked directly into Crowley's eyes and said "who do you think told me where you were and sent me here?" "You know the Gods and how they can get…yours parley with mine they make deals just like you and I. I suggest Fergus or should I call you Crowley? What I would suggest is that we make this all disappear. You break down this tricked out spirit trap, I'll disperse the angry spirits and Castiel will clean up the boys and wipe their memories of this whole nasty mess. It would destroy them. We all got stuff that needs to not be spoken of. So let's go to our separate corners. It'll appease Exu, Yahweh and the crew and no one will ever hear another word, and nobody tells Lucifer anything. Deal?" "Castiel on board with this?" says Crowley; "he will be, you know how he loves the boys…almost as much as you do."

So said so done.

Some months down the road, Sam and Dean were sitting around some other dingy bar run by some other not-Ellen woman. Music, beer, salty food in a quiet corner. Sam said to Dean talking soft. "you ever think about Rufus? Bobby always said we hadn't seen half of what Rufus knows". Dean said "I think its one of those old hunter stories old juju my ass. They're both dead he would've turned up by now.

Book II

The Hoodoo Prince

 _Bird Sign_

Many things are signs of spirit discontent, for those who know the signs. Birds dropping out of the sky dead for no rhyme or reason, in the same place year after year. When it happened on the feast day of Yemanjá Festival the powerful sea goddess to which Rufus was covenanted, it was no good news. The marsh around his old home was littered with dead and dying birds.

Rufus had been away for home for years. Hadn't even thought about home really. Blocking it from his mind as if it was a particularly horrific dream, he contented himself with traveling, fighting monsters and gathering information, a vague idea of perhaps setting up shop as a griot someday dispensing information to hunters sort of like his friend Bobby without the guilt and rotgut whisky.

 _Meanwhile back home…_

Things changed slowly in Atchafalaya swamp, arcane knowledge had been forgotten over time. The old beliefs were not practiced, altars went without sacrifice and elders who knew things were often neglected. The little bungalow where Rufus had imprisoned the boo-hag fell into disrepair and the sigils of blue paint flaked away as the wards aged. Gods and demons could have great patience in their anger thinking of ways to exact their revenge. And his patroness known by many names was the most patient of them all. Time was her ally.

People come and go in the swamp where Rufus grew up. Not as often as cities but enough to be noticed. A new woman, a kindly old neighbor, somebody's grandmother the kind you helped across the road was occasionally seen in the small cluster of homes that passed for a town. Some of them could be duppies or restless spirits usually a deceased family member or friend who appear to give advice or warning. Duppies can also be set on someone to fetch, terrorize or kill. Duppy can be mistaken for live people except for their red glowing eyes. Around the same time there were fewer familiar people there seemed to more old strangers so a new one might be noticed. Even one with red eyes.

Even so boys will be boys. Unwary young men wandering after a late night out drinking claimed they saw a beautiful seductress whose face was hidden in shadows that seemed to move with her. Mesmerized, the men followed her. By the time they would realize what was happening they were hopelessly lost or already drowning at the bottom of the swamp. The swamp folks were dying. Man and boy, women and girl they died bloody killed off by a vengeful goddess. Death sucking their life from their bones. Goddess is patient but patience ends eventually then her anger will not be dissuaded, coaxed or enticed.

Rufus had been claimed as a child many years ago by the water goddess called by many names. Mami Wata, Great Mother or Yemanjá. She took careless or mean-spirited men who hurt women (like Rufus had) as her husbands for two of their lifetimes. These men are forbidden to leave her or to die. The only hope for a man who finds himself accused in her presence is to leave quickly walking backwards so as not to turn his back upon her. Rufus had been a faithless young man back in the day who thought he could take her gifts of life, wisdom and power and ignore her. His punishment was sure. Mami had come to him as a beautiful woman but Rufus was cagy (or so he thought). He recognized her in his boo hag of a wife and bound her up with all the skills he knew later sneaking away in the night. In all those years that he abandoned her, he had offered her no food or drink, spilled no alcohol in obeisance not even sacrificed an occasional chicken. He had left her bed cold and she was about done with his trifling ways.

Some truths have sharp edges, the old gods reward or punish but they do not forgive. Those who know the truth know that knowledge is never free and peace is worth much more than a few sacrifices. No one can break their word to the Mother and walk away cold without so much as sacrificing a damn chicken or tossing her a shot of rum.

 _Obeah man blues_

Obeah men are the oldest and most artful practitioners, they are well acquainted with both medicinal and poisonous herbs, they can and do restore the dead to life when they deem it needed although the price is costly; Okomfo was one of the oldest and craftiest practitioner of the craft and had been Rufus' teacher for a time. His skills garnered him respect among those who knew the arts. Favor, and punishment and the predicting of future events were well within his abilities. Or at least it had been before the goddess' wrath had been stirred.

The truth was a lot of time had passed and unlike Rufus, Okomfo had avoided deals that sounded too good. His soul was his own but his time in this world was fleeting, his age weighed heavily on him. Rufus was intended to be his replacement but he had gone, leaving a mess and Okomfo was too old too feeble to fix it alone.

 _Dreaming_

One night, back in Brooklyn in the basement of a brownstone Rufus dreamed.

A pretty woman sat opposite him, looking at him with sad ebony eyes. He knew she was really a monster inside, but he didn't want to get eaten. She pretended to fall asleep he followed her quietly upstairs and painted the doors and windows with blue paint. She gave a shriek of pain and rage as she flew around the house, howling like a banshee. Amidst flashing lights, he woke up.

Rufus was finally realizing the patience of a goddess scorned and marinated with rage for decades instead of days. It was a trap. Killing his wife and daughter was not enough. The trap was not laid outside of town, it was squatting dark-eyed, red-lipped smooth as night in that house that Rufus had abandoned. He hadn't dreamt of home or his boo-hag duppy wife for many years. But wards were dropping and the loa were agitated. He had counted on the old man to guard the door. But that was so long ago…

 _Back home again …_

In the old days' tribe and family were everything. Roots mixed right could cure most stuff and ancestors dead or living stuck around to whisper warnings or wisdom to kinfolk for the rest. Some families were gifted living half in and out of spirit to commune with gods and men. But a commitment was expected. There was a proper way of things. No one just walked away. That was just disrespectful. The swamp was dying and every one in it because the goddess was one vindictive bitch and was tired of waiting for Rufus to return voluntarily. She turned her wrath on all the anyone still simple enough to stay in the swamp until the loa ran screaming to find Rufus before she destroyed them all.

 _Crowley and the boys_

It had been hard for the boys in the years after Bobby died. Despite Rufus' intervention, Castiel's mind wipe and Crowley's silence on some inside level they were broken. They worked enough jobs to take the edge off their pain spending most nights passed out drunk. They were becoming careless. Each spell carries a bit of the spell caster and the boys had gotten careless often leaving a mess behind for someone else to clean up.

The most popular place to perform a specific ritual or skill or whatever you chose is a crossroads. You bring the item you wish to master and wait at the crossroads on new moon nights. You may witness a mysterious appearance. If you are patient, a " man" will arrive. If you are not afraid and do not run away, he will show you how do what you wish. For a price.

In hoodoo practice, after one completes a "job of work" or purposeful ritual, it is best to dispose of left-over candle wax, ashes, bones or blood in the crossroads. Throw it into the intersection and walk home without looking back. Ritual items however should never be simply thrown away. Throw them into running water, take them to a graveyard or even burying them in your backyard. Each spell carries a bit of the spell caster and so can be used against him. Hunters weren't experts they often gathered pieces of information randomly, running into danger fast and often leaving a mess behind for someone else to clean up. Each spell carries a bit of the spell caster and the boys had gotten reckless often leaving a mess behind.

Crowley gathered bits and pieces of the boys' clutter they left behind. Like a psychic detective he amassed discarded bits of blood on bandages, one or two of those abominable sweaty plaid shirts accidentally left in motel rooms. Even hair from shower drains. He was not a celebrant of the hoodoo arts but he had been impressed with his secret observation of Rufus' power. Maybe he would find a new way of tormenting the boys while remaining under the radar. He might be the King of Hell but Rufus was the favorite of a Goddess and enjoyed a certain amount of immunity to his power. Maybe Crowley would learn something he could use.

Duppies are usually deceased family sent to terrorize or torment a man by appearing as a long lost victim or friend. Perhaps a duppy could be made from Bobby's dead ashes. Crowley's hope was that multiplying their troubles, pain and fear would force them to turn to him for help. He purred in anticipation of the game of cat and mouse he would visit on Sam and Dean.

 _Obeah Man Blues reprise_

Okomfo was one of the oldest and craftiest of the diviners of the arts in the swamp where Rufus' family had lived. His skill in plants medicinal and poisonous caused respect. His favor was sought by professionals, discovery and punishment and the predicting of future events were his specialty. He could quit his body and travel 'smelling out' witches.

But the human body was never designed to hold magic for long. Shamans rarely died sane or of old age. The magic grew to take total possession of the man sometimes for years sometimes longer outlasting death. Shaman learn to maintain boundaries and control or they died ugly. A good worker of the arts could restore harmony to the community. Without control a magic worker could burn from the inside out. This was the path laid out before Rufus. This was the path Rufus rejected. A road that he scrupulously avoided. The goddess had killed his human wife and stolen his only daughter in attempts to reign him in with no luck.

It was time. Okomfo was old, he could wait no longer. The town was dying and he had had to arrange himself in the front yard of Rufus' old house to ward it himself. He was tired, it was way past time to train an apprentice. But the goddess would have Rufus or no other. It burned him to lose influence among the remaining local folks as he could not stop the disappearances or the dying. A voodoo worker who the loas would not answer was of no use to anyone. And that one in the house was waiting for the slightest slip in his control.

In Obeah, a person is believed to possess two souls a good soul and an earthly soul. In death, the good soul goes to heaven to be judged by God, while the earthly spirit remains with the body, where it can escape the grave if proper precautions are not taken. Okomfo had very little good left in his soul. His loa Oshun had leeched it all, payment for the little good he had been able to do in his village. His other soul remained in a spirit box that linked him forever to his past lover, Rufus' natural mother. It was still in that damn house with the boo-hag. His own daughter who had been "duppied" long years ago by the goddess roamed the swamp creating havoc seducing men to their death. he had nothing left to hold him to this place except his promise to Rufus.

 _No place like Home_

Atchafalaya Swamp, is the largest swamp in the United States. Located in south central Louisiana, it is a combination of wetlands and river delta area where the Atchafalaya River and the Gulf of Mexico converge. In the old days Atchafalaya was the main supplier of seafood to New Orleans. White indentured servants, Indian and African slaves died in numbers because of the diseases Europeans brought to America. For those who survived illness it was nearly impossible to escape the plantations. Those who are tried, suffered severe punishment branding mutilation, and death. The few that did escape fled into the swamps where it was assumed they had died. The folks in swamp were descended from is one such community. One of the first village elders was an Ashanti free woman who practiced Obeah and voodoo. However, as there was more contact with the outside world, African practices began to die out in most places but local folks had a long memory

Most of the older village denizens were dead. However, this did not stop them from putting a stick into local community doings back in the day. A kindly old neighbor woman, maybe somebody's grandmother could appear, a seductive beautiful woman or man who flirted too much, could be found floating in the swamp. Goddess can be patient but patience ends eventually and her revenge will not be dissuaded, coaxed or enticed. Her vengeance was not aimed more like a bomb than a gun so anyone too close could be burned by her rage.

Somewhere buried deep beneath Rufus' old house was a chest intricately carved with protections and runes where divine objects, and fragments of power were kept. It was through these objects the diviner retained power. Rufus box [among others] remained stored in the chest beneath Rufus' mother's house protecting his mortal soul. As long as his mother was alive to guard it and the proper forms had been met, the village was safe. Rufus had upset the balance. His mother guarded him and the others when she lived, she died after Rufus left leaving the box untended and Okomfo to fend for himself.

 _Preparation is key_

True workers of the arts [witches, root workers and hunters] all knew one thing. Preparation was key. Without the proper information, the proper incantation or to put it in hunter terms you at least had to have a general idea what the hell might be going on before you walked in blind. That affected what spells might be needed, what allies might be needed or what gods might need to be appeased. Rufus knew. Although he felt he had nothing to lose, the gods had a way of finding that one thing you had left, people you had forgotten about and twisting the knife till you were bloody. He wasn't going to wind up somebody's zombie slave if he could help it. Divining the nature of the trouble was key to discerning what steps or rituals to appeal to. No good can come of ignorance.

Abandoned by his guardians the loa, Rufus considered calling up "Chimdi", spirits who had died by violence and had not received the proper burial but if they were not properly controlled, they would remain to torture the living and attempt to take someone with them into hell.

Rufus thought about invoking Sutekh, one of the most ancient of the Egyptian Gods. Sutekh the storm god associated with natural disasters he was a friend of the dead. But he was also dangerous, jealous and unpredictable. He could be a powerful ally. At the least he could keep in Chimdi in check.

Resentment is a cold hard anger that can eat you up. Maybe feeling an old insult nobody remembers, or feeling cheated. Resentments destroys peace. Resentment in the gods can turn ugly. There are places burned flat which could attest to that. Dull eyed zombies could testify to the foolishness of forgetting your obligation. Forgiveness is a choice only known to one God I AM. The others believed in payback.

 _Purgatory/ the Underworld._

According to Bobby's notes, the underworld goes by many names, "Purgatory" is just one of the most common in Christendom. That place also known as the Underworld orTartarus was designed as a prison for the immortal essences of monsters and gods, a spiritual corral. A monster's soul is destined for Purgatory and once there, cannot leave except under very special circumstances.

It appears infinite, it had multiple portals of entry and exit. Almost every soul there was a monster that preyed on each other eternally. Some believed it was hidden deep in the earth. Others think it is another plane altogether. Wherever it was life in the underworld was rather like being in a miserable dream, full of shadows, ill-lit and desolate, barren of hope; a joyless place where the dead slowly faded away. Eternally.

It was here the boo-hag had trapped Rufus' only real friend Bobby in a psychic loop, an unending night mare he could neither understand or fight neither living or dead.

 _No place like home-ish_

At night, Bobby lingered over his dinner, looking with sad eyes at the pretty woman sitting opposite him. He knew she was really a monster, but it was so nice to have a little wife at home. He hated like anything to see her go. But he didn't want to get eaten. So he went up to their bedroom and pretended to fall asleep while she sang to him. Then he followed her quietly upstairs and watched her abandon her skin and fly out the window. He spent the rest of the night painting over every door and window frame, every opening with blue paint, leaving only one small unpainted window open in the cellar. He nailed it up so that it would open no further than a crack. Then he hid himself to wait.

Just before dawn, she returned flying toward the window. As soon as she touched the blue painted frame, she gave a shriek of pain and rage. Bobby listened as she flew around the house, testing each window and door and howling like a banshee when it burned her. Then she found the little window in the cellar, and he heard the thump as she squeezed in sliding back into her meat suit. He jolted awake as from a nightmare and it began all over again.

 _By the time I get to Nola…_

After wrapping up his business in Brooklyn, Rufus took a long leisurely train ride to Louisiana. He felt reasonably safe traveling on the ground and would not have to have the contents of his carryon would not have to be explained to an overzealous TSA agent. The twenty-four hour ride on the Crescent Line from Penn Station in New York to Shreveport Louisiana, the nearest train stop was slow and uneventful. It gave him time to think and sleep. There would be no shut eye once he was home. He did not dare let down his guard for a moment. He had already used up all his second chances.

Rufus rented a car at the Alamo counter at the airport. He parked and walked up to the door of his old home. He came upon the old man squatting in the front yard. At first he thought it was a statue perhaps of an old frog inexplicably painted and swathed in the decorated robes of a healer. Upon closer examination he saw the spark of life still in his eyes. It was Okomfo. His voice croaked as he peered up at Rufus "hey boy, you'll be wanting to catch up".

Since Rufus had run away all those many years ago, the small village had changed. Many of the houses stood abandoned. Ghosts of long dead loved ones had overrun any gatherings and young people left for the mundane life of the cities where at least there were no long dead spirits waiting behind their house to chitter at you in the middle of the night. The little village was filled with old people who had nowhere else to go.

Rufus asked "Does no one serve the Goddess or offer her sacrifice?" "Nope no one left to" said the old man. "and you know her, she gets angry, she'll have what she wants – and that is you boy". Rufus thought aloud "there's got to be another way." Not for you Ruf", the old man countered "she took your family, your friends until she'll take you. And they will suffer until you give in". "Well no problem there I don't have nobody left" said Rufus bitterly. "Yeah? Tell me…who's Bobby to you? Cause he's trapped in there in the between place with that goddess ridden boo-hag you married".

 _No one ever stays dead_ ,

Rufus mused bewildered by what he had been told. Bobby in the underworld? In the between places? With the boo-hag no less. Now that was low. Sure they run together as hunters for many years but Rufus thought those days of watching each other's backs were over. He hadn't seen or spoken to Bobby since the com worm used him to stab Rufus in the gut. Besides Bobby had died years ago. Rufus always figured he was in hunter heaven instead of trapped in a house with Rufus' crazy ex. No, that pretty much assured he couldn't simply walk away.

 _Meanwhile back on the outskirts of Hell adjacent to Purgatory._

Crowley lounged draped across his throne in hell watching reflections of Bobby playing house with some demon hag in Purgatory. Wouldn't have expected that of the old codger. Huh wonder if Dean knew his precious Bobby wasn't quite in heavenly hunter places they all aspired to. I wonder if I should let it slip accidentally. Leave a few clues for the clueless. Wonder what or who they'd be willing to trade this time. This smelled of old magic though maybe he should just watch. He liked stir the pot and make some trouble almost as much as he liked to watch.

 _Help from Unexpected Places_

In the 17th year of his reign, Mansa Mūsā, emperor of Mali commissioned Abū al-Sāḥilī, a local mystic, poet and architect to build Timbuktu, a center for commerce, learning and the arcane arts. Scholars who were interested in history, theology, and law were drawn there to help lay the foundations of the University of Sankore according to the ancient glyphs and signs.

Others were drawn also. The deserts near Sankore were home to an obscure group of scholars known as the desert fathers. They were sacred mystics of the Songhay/ Dahomey people whose followers enjoyed ecstatic experiences when they would prophesy speaking in tongues and minister to the poor at the behest of their god they named IAM the father of lights.

The Desert Fathers lived secluded lives in pursuit of serving their god and engaging his enemy in combat. They studied evil's workings to prevent it from flourishing. Mystics surveying the land around the construction one of them found a cave in the north part of the grounds where the building would soon begin. He discovered an entrance to a passage descending sharply into the rock. Forcing his way as far as he could through the hole and pulled out the Ka'ba, a stone the size of the palm of his hand. After deep study of the glyphs on the cave walls he learned to use it as a fulcrum of power and light the point of contact between the invisible and the visible, the living and dead. Consumed with its study he forgot speech and became known as the first of the silent ones, he himself neither living nor dead.

The Desert Fathers settled there to study the secret of the caves. In modern times much knowledge is long forgotten in the dust by all but the desert fathers. They believed in good and evil... And the spirits that represented each. Spirits that were actually necessary to keep the balance. Spirits whose rest could be disturbed when the circle of life was not complete. If offended they would torture the living with fever and hallucinations. Any disruption in the cycle would cause unrest for the living.

Maintaining the balance of "good" and "evil", the balance of all things negative and positive were equal in the creation of the universe. Humanity was intended to be perfect and live in balance... the antagonist their god's adversary endeavored to separate human beings from the creator and to create strife.

Their movement spread through much of Europe, Africa and finally the Americas. The Desert Fathers lived hidden from society throughout countries inhabited by children of the African diaspora hidden learning, preserving and seeking knowledge concealed by their apparent ordinariness, pursuing their god and engaging his adversary in combat.

Some among them were healers some were hunters outright. One watched in the swamp sensing the ebb and flow of the power in that hidden village, remembering how traitorous the old gods could be, even with their favorites. A battle was coming she would soon make herself known. She began packing a bag. Her help would definitely be needed soon.

 _Plans within plans_

Rufus decided first of all he needed a team. There were just too many moving parts. Some muscle (Dean) some sensible (Sam) and some magical (Crowley? Okomfo was too old). Trouble was that he had been out of touch for way too long, busy keeping a low profile letting too much go. With Bobby on the other side who was left that he could count on?

Rufus needed a human warrior, tough and ruthless to go with him into the underworld. If only he could pry Dean away from Sam. Ordinarily they were inseparable, but while Sam the younger brother was a quick study with an ear for ancient ritual magic in obscure languages, he was way too sensitive, too vulnerable to strike when he could, except in defense of his brother. Dean had already survived purgatory once. He knew his way around and had no doubts about cutting monster throats.

Rufus called the last number he had for Dean and after a dozen rings Dean answered as though he was just waking up though it was past noon. He slurred his words as he answered eloquently "whozzis?" He tried again "who is this?" Rufus answered impatiently "it's Rufus Turner – who you think it is – don't you have caller ID?" "Rufus? Rufus is dead!" Dean said angrily. "Rufus is dead…Bobby is dead…everybody just dead" he sounded like he was sinking back into sleep. "Yeah…yeah…I got better. Put Sam on the phone". So much for leaving Sam out of it. "Yeah" said Sam picking the phone out of Dean's limp hand. "Rufus? Bobby always said you'd be back…what's up?"

As succinctly as possible Rufus explained what was happening ending with Sam promising to sober Dean up and get him to the swamp from their Men of Letters' Bunker in Kansas. Sam arrived a full day and a half later with Dean in tow in their black '67 Chevy Impala. It was one of the only lasting gifts given to Dean by his father, John. You could hear it coming for miles, part of the boys' bravado. Sam and Dean arrived dirty and disheveled looking like crap. Rufus could smell the cheap booze and blood from several feet away, and something of a small curse fastened to them, by a barely competent practitioner. They both looked like crap and for the first time Rufus began to think this may not have been his best idea getting these clowns for backup…they might get dead sooner than later. Again. Maybe he needed to rethink the whole plan.

 _Fulani Girl_

While he was thinking staring off into the distance planning or trying to plan his next move, a low feminine voice spoke behind him. "My, my, aren't you a lovely bunch of coconuts". A low feminine voice reached them as a cloaked figure stepped from behind a tall cypress tree. She threw back her hood to reveal a woman. She had a very delicate small bone structure, full lips and a narrow nose ending in finely flared nostrils giving her an almost hawk like preternaturally alert look to her black on black eyes which were rimmed with naturally long eyelashes. She wore multiple gold earrings which extended up from the earlobe to the auricle. bright red thread was knotted through the gold earrings so as to be almost completely silent. Her lips were tattooed outlined with black ink around her mouth extending to her chin. Her slight form no bigger than a minute moved in silence although she had an aura of power around her. "I'm Mehetabel a daughter of the Desert Fathers servant of IAM. You can call me Mel a lot easier to remember. I'm here to help, so what's your plan to clean up your mess. And rest assured it is truly your mess".

Rufus stepped back confused "I didn't call…wait…you're a what…a desert father"? He hated the sense of losing control, of a wild card just showing up. "who the hell are you? What can you do". "Well it looks like things got away from you and since you decided to involve the guys God sent me as his local rep. The sooner you resolve this the sooner we can all get back to saving humanity" she said sardonically. "We? You said we?" said Rufus.

 _We're The F*****G Winchesters,_

Dean lifted his head from his stupor and glared down at the small boned short woman who was a new disturbance in his pleasant high. "We're the f*****g Winchesters, we give help we don't need especially from any little bitty women". Mehetabel seemed amused more than fearful. "Well let's see" she said musingly "you have serious anger issues that you solve by drowning them in alcohol and demon blood although you're still pretty fast with a certain knife", "and you Sam, don't be so smug, sneaking demon blood in your smoothie – not cool at all". The brothers looked at each other guiltily their secrets out in the light of day. "And before you get all high and mighty Rufus" she said over her shoulder "we wouldn't all be here if you had kept your obligations to that so-called goddess in the first place. Too proud to ask for help with her reaching havoc. How many people died to get you back here to fix this?"

"You all are being vexed by dark powers and I am a lifeline – your god shot as it were. Since in His plan you all seemed to be some sort of convoluted family unit I'm here to untangle some of your troubles". Rufus felt control of the situation slipping out of his control. Somehow this tiny woman cast an aura of pure power that was intimidating even to him. He believed her. He turned to where she had been standing to see she had moved over to Okomfo and was whispering to him quietly she helped him rise to his feet and totter off down the dirt road. Rufus then realized Okomfo was much more frail than he had realized. "you go Fadda' you done" she said softly after kissing his head and each hand." I released him. I tell him it was all right to let go".

 _The Gang's All Here…_

"Now we needed to prepare. Sam? Dean? Get over here". She wrinkled her nose in their direction. "Somebody is vexing you boys". She sniffed delicately, "you both have the smell of brimstone and demon blood on you. Tell me who do know in Hell? Whose Crowley?" At the sound of that name both the brothers flinched. Well let's just call him up and hear his story? Might be we can use him, don't need to call dem blasted Chimdi – too much trouble, too hard to control.

She went a little apart from the group and marked out a simple circle by dragging her toe in the dust. "You two" she motioned to the brothers "come stand here". She motioned them to the center of the circle. "His gris links him to you so let's just yank his chain a bit. She began singing a liquid sounding voice slippery words too quick to catch but the power blasted outward. Red smoke coalesced into the form a small dapper man in a perfectly tailored suit. Crowley.

"Hello boys didn't use the usual bits and pieces blood and fire what's up with that" Crowley purred. "Nah no talking to dem talk to me," Mehetabel barked "here pay attention little man". "Who the hell are you?" Crowley squawked indignantly "Do you know who I am?" Crowley prepared to roar at her. "Nah you don't" she delivered a quick knuckle to his Adam's apple cutting off his voice. "I know who you are ya jumped up little heathen. King a' Hell my ass. You're just warming dat chair till Luci figures out how to get out of that cage you helped put him in. And just between you and me you know who his daddy is and you know he don't like none of his in a cage or under a spell. Not Lucifer, not Michael not these too Sam and Dean. So I would be figuring my exit plan or at least building up brownie points with the Big Man" she talked fast as bullets. "who is this bitch" Crowley said incredulously "anybody?"

"Okay" Mehetabel barked "so much for being nice, okay this bitch boy is the one who hold the other end of your gris gris. See he don't know when you cast an obeah spell to bind them to you, you also bind yourself to them". She sucked her teeth "fooling with magicks you don't understand so now I've got you. You can show me the portal to the underworld where the hag is making do with Bobby. I'm sure you know exactly where it is". "Now why would I do that little girl? What's in it for me?" Crowley snarled. "Well" Mehetabel said in a little girl voice that fooled no one "I could just tie you down right here and you could while away the rest of your miserably long life in this dismal little swamp till Jesus come. And I hear he ain't one of your fans either" "You wouldn't" said Crowley. "Try me" she said smugly "just try and smoke out of that circle". He already tried and failed.

"Okay what's the deal" said Crowley. "Me make a deal with an experienced crossroad demon like you? I look stupid? No. I talk you listen" Mel said. "First, you cut these boys loose. Give me the spell bags I know even you aren't stupid enough to leave them lying around in hell." Crowley handed both small clumsily made bags over and Mel who torched them immediately though none of the others could figure out where the fire came from nor where it went. She was an unknown who seemed to know too much about them and they knew almost nothing about her. "Next you agree to show us the portal to get in and be available when we're ready to leave". "Wait what?" She cocked her head to the side as if listening to a silent voice "oh okay" she murmured. She turned to the group and said "hasn't anybody called Castiel yet? Wait he's here, come out little one, stop lurking, Father says you have a part to play. They still need you."

Sheepishly Castiel stepped out of the shadow. Mel gave him a stern look like a teacher with an errant student. "You having been neglectful, letting this Crowley person sink his claws into these boys you have charge over? Shame on you wallowing and pitying yourself instead of being about our father's business". "Our father?" said the group said more or less simultaneously. She ignored them and hugged Castiel close like a mother even though he towered over "never mind that… you can help, father knows you try your best, forgiveness, love remember?" She coaxed a small smile out of Cas as he straightened his shoulders looking more like himself. "Okay," Dean spoke up "Before we move another step we need to know who exactly you are and how you know so much about us".

She took a deep breath. "Okay here are the cliff notes. You know how you guys are Men of Letters and have access to all that arcane paraphernalia. Well, I am an initiate of the desert fathers. We have existed well before your letters men, living in the caves near Timbuctoo studying sacred texts and concentrating on our relationship with IAM our god. We are dedicated to the balance, the maat of the universe. Spirit and flesh, good and evil, yin and yang. Keeping the balance on behalf of our god who is above all. Many of us remained on the continent, many came over to the new world in the diaspora. We live among you maintaining balance. We are many. Our leader, our silent one said the spirit world, the loa if you will, are disturbed. This is no small matter. So I have been directed to help. I received word that your alliance, your family was broken. It must be re-established because the universe is askew. The balance must be restored.

 _Spirits in the House_

She looked directly at Dean and Sam Okay? So I don't want to hear any whining about god not coming when you call. He bailed you out and brought you back so many times even you have lost count. Now let's get cleaned up so can start. Everybody over to the shallow part of the swamp there's clean water at the spill way.

Okay let's form up. Crowley to come over here and you're going to go first because you can see the portal. Rufus you go next she'll recognize you. Sam, Dean left and right. Mind me, as much as possible you should keep the group tight. We all need to go together so we can come back together. Don't want to spend any more time than you have to. You guys know the drill don't eat anything you're offered, don't make any promises to anybody over there even if you know them. And only trust us. This goddess is one sneaky bitch. I've dealt with her kind before. Prying her claws out of Bobby will be no easy task. Not you Castiel you stay on this side I may need you to pull us out.

As Rufus near the door he felt fear stirring in the pit of his stomach. He was in the swamp again, after so many years well aware of the horrors that befall those who anger the goddess. He had no choice, he was grateful for the help. After what seems like an eternity, they reached the clearing.

The house was what was left of a cluster of cabins in those same places since slavery times. They were set in a semi-circle like an African kraal built on a slight slope with the main entrance at the lower end facing the swamp at its deepest point. This enables rainwater to clear the ground drying quickly. The earth was barren around the house starved for nourishment surrounded by lush foliage only yards away. The unkempt house reflected the unpleasant bareness of the dirt all around it.

The group tramped slowly toward the house. She released Crowley by cutting the dirt circle with her knife. Clouds gathered rain and howling winds slammed into them, they leaned into the wind threatened to push them away from the entrance they pushed on stumble on through the gathering dark to see the path ahead. Sam suddenly wished he was anywhere but here. He held Dean up as much as he could.

Rufus' old cottage was composed of two rooms with dirt floors. It was solid with vertical posts sunk into the earth, and the roof and sides made of clapboards, nailed in overlapping horizontal rows to the building's frame. The second room was much smaller. There was a fireplace where food cooked in the traditional manner. the cabin had fallen into disrepair. The roof leaked and its walls had gaping holes.

When they got close the house was dark, no lights at all. Rufus pushed the unlocked the door and went in. All at once something invisible darted out the door. Rufus fell backward and hit his head, he was knocked out lying on the ground. Rufus awoke to a ring of concerned faces. The house looked so small standing barely visible in the gloom. Without realizing it, the others hang back waiting for Rufus to lead them through the door.

Knocking a few times, what sounded like movement inside the hut reached all their ears. There is the creak of a chair, the sound of something crashing to the ground, and then footsteps slowly approaching the door. With a dry groan, the door swings open to emptiness.

Sam had a feeling they were being watched. Crowley knew it.

 _The goddess._

When the goddess fell she was weak deprived of worship on earth. With no worshippers to speak of she had barely enough juice left to escape by a spirit door build flat against a wall to the underworld. She entered secretly so as not be visible to the upper world in her weakened state. Even as she sank to the sunless place, Death in his Hades guise welcomed her. For all her power she broke an ancient rule. She had tasted wine from his table, she was tricked, so she was forced to remain in this between place adjacent to hell.

The underworld, or purgatory as it was called by some could be divided into sections; one for the morally corrupt who suffered eternally, one for great heroes in eternal happiness and the rivers of sorrow and forgetfulness. Where the ferryman carried departed souls for a price. One for the souls of monsters locked in battle eternally. The goddess was bored at the prospect of eternity listening to Death talking about how inexorable he was. One solution to her boredom was to grab that old man Bobby that was Rufus' only friend on his way through to Heaven the Elysian Fields of heroes.

 _The dead always come back_

Sister sit down, let's talk. We have been focusing on Bobby but tell me are you stuck here too?"

The goddess sat down and for a moment she dropped the glamour and allowed others to see her true form. she looked tired and worn less like a goddess and more like somebody's maiden aunt that took a break from kitchen work and sat down for once. "Yes my dear, you're absolutely right I thought I was escaping here. And old Hades got me. Sue me, I had a drink". Mel was suitably shocked! "No my sister how can you forget such a basic thing". "Oh I don't know, I was so consumed with making plans to fix Rufus' sorry ass and then his friend Bobby came along, I forgot myself and now I'm stuck" Mata sat back in her chair clearly disgusted with herself. "It's my temper messes me up every time". "Okay", Mel said "so let's barter if we can get you out will you let Bobby go? Your argument is with Rufus after all". The goddess looked relieved maybe willing to bargain.

Sister sit down, let's talk. We have been focusing on Bobby but tell me are you stuck here too?" The goddess sat down and for a moment she dropped the glamour and allowed others to see her true form. she looked tired and worn less like a goddess and more like somebody's maiden aunt that took a break from kitchen work and sat down for once. "Yes my dear, you're absolutely right I thought I was escaping here. And old Hades got me. Sue me, I had a drink". Mel was suitably shocked! "No my sister how can you forget such a basic thing". "Oh I don't know, I was so consumed with making plans to fix Rufus' sorry ass and then his friend Bobby came along, I forgot myself and now I'm stuck" Mata sat back in her chair clearly disgusted with herself. "It's my temper messes me up every time". "Okay", Mel said "so let's barter if we can get you out will you let Bobby go? Your argument is with Rufus after all". The goddess looked relieved maybe willing to bargain.

Mata Wata told her story. Little different from what they already knew. As the two women relaxed and chatted, Rufus drew near enough to listen. He knew everything had a price and he was going to have to pay. How steep it was would depend on this strange little woman's ability to negotiate.

As they were talking, Crowley explored the corners of Bobby's house searching for portals or faults in the illusion. He heard a snatch of conversation…" Hades said…" "Hades Crowley said loudly. Dean and Sam heads both jerked up" you mean Death? Dean lunch buddy? Death? Yeah pity we don't have a few nachos around to tempt him with…wait a minute Dean killed dead to save Sam…well done Dean bigger mess than usual" Crowley snarled at them.

"It's true Dean?" Mel said. Dean nodded reluctantly. "Good" she said, "you can speak for us then". There was nothing Dean dreaded more than facing Death after his lies and betrayal. His mind raced to think of some way out of this and as he backed up into a chair there sat Death looking up at him dourly. "Long time Dean, got any…chips?"

"You're…you're still alive" stammered Dean, "in a manner of speaking…" Death said sourly "no thanks to you." Sam was doing his best to blend into a wall. "Hello to you too Sam I see your still alive and well…alive anyway." Death sighed. "I would love to kill the lot of you and have done with it. But well I'm stuck in this dreadful place."

 _Go Down Death_

Death had existed almost as long as God. There was even some speculation that they were related and there was really no one to ask (except God's sister, but that's a story for another time…and you probably don't want to talk to her anyway).

Anyway, Death had embraced the idea of playing Hades it took some of the boredom of greeting the inevitably confused newly dead souls which should just pass through or worse yet newly dead new monsters that hunters killed before they got the hang of being a vampire, wendigo. Jefferson Starship or whatever. Looking up from his chair "I will agree to practically anything – please get me out of purgatory" Death said "if I have to coexist with one more whiny leviathan..."

The attention of the whole group was on Mehetabel "Good then we all have something to gain from a successful parley" she said "IAM will be so pleased". "Crowley, this is your back door. I need you to close up some of these portals. Any Tom, Dick or Harry can wander in, it leaks like I don't know what. A king should be ruling his kingdom instead of playing boogie man with hunters. Unseemly Sir if you expect to be taken seriously". Crowley looked confused at being harassed by this woman." you remain behind and close up behind us.

"Death, you perform an important function. You are what's the word ineffable. To let yourself be teased, baited and dispatched by this snot nosed arrogant child is just embarrassing. IAM said you should take a long vacation and pick up your scythe and go back to work. Through that portal with you, Castiel is on the other side…" Death wasted no time in scrambling through the door.

"Bobby…honey the real Karen is waiting for you upstairs, enough make believe. Go on to your wife. Bobby looked at the boys and hugged them in turn. See you soon boys …but not too soon hear?" He melted away into nothingness.

Dean went up to her to ask his eternal question before the opportunity disappeared.

"Wait a minute. You know God is that it? I mean all this information you know about us, listening to voices, ordering Death around, are you God? Cause we've been trying to find him for a long time and no luck." Mel shook her head and started laughing it started low and quickly spiraled into a belly laugh. "You are ridiculous Dean; you're kidding right? Sam you know better don't you Sam? Come on guys. How many times have you both been dead and come back? You slew death with his own scythe and banished him here for years. You just happen to find the right spell, the right person, the information you need when you need it? Really? Because of your boyish good looks and charm. Who else interacts with angels and demons and live to talk about it? And you're upset because God is not a genie you can just call up? Why do you think you're still alive?"

"Rufus, you let this nonsense go on, on your watch? Well they're very convincing. They convinced cherubim that he's just a tag along, buddy so I guess anything's possible. Bobby's gone. Castiel…well Castiel will take time."

"You boys go back to that bunker of yours. No, Dean leave the knife. You get some food and some sleep. I'll send Castiel to clean you up". Go on now" Mel made a shooing motion as the boys, confused, moved toward the spirit door. "Did you understand any of what happened there" Sam asked Dean quietly "not a bit", Dean answered "but it's good to know somebody's looked out for us". The disappeared through the portal.

"This leaves you two. This nonsense between you needs to be over. Now. How many bodies Mata, this is how IAM stopped tolerating you all. Too many bodies, killing off your own worshippers, chasing this one all over the country, loosing jumbees and zombies and whatnot, so many dead. I ought to leave you down here to face them, poor foolish things believing you in the first place. But the balance must be maintained, there must be a choice and you are less dangerous than most. And you Rufus need to honor your debt. Perhaps you can start that school you were thinking about. Go make your ancestors proud. Mel smiled at them. "So what will you be doing?" Mata asked. "Praying studying and watching, I am an initiate of IAM. I will be where He sends me. Pray it isn't to you again…Mel smiled as she slowly dissipated like smoke before their eyes.

 _Epilogue_

Down in the Backwoods of Louisiana down by the swamp there was a man known by many names, but most folks called him Papa Juju. He was the biggest baddest hoodoo obeah man still working in this end of the planet. Lived there with his woman he called Mata sometimes he slipped and called her Lucy but nobody really cared. Folks said he forgot more magic than most folks know today. But if you have a need for someone to come closer or to go away, if you were bothered by something that won't leave you alone, he was the one to talk to. She didn't talk much but she had been with him a long time. Best leave some things alone unless you really had a serious need. Some things need to stay dead.

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